Judging they’d done their social duty as honored guests long enough, Mike finally rescued his cousin from making a fool of himself with the over-attentive dancers. “Chief, I think I'd better get my man and myself back to our own tent before we overdo it and can't ride tomorrow morning,” he said. “There’s one remaining thing I have to do.”
“And that is?” Bandarlok lifted his overflowing mug, sloshing wine on the cushions.
Shrugging apologetically, Mike said, “The emperor insisted I take formal leave of Princess Shalira, so I can report back to him before I leave the planet, and describe her state of happiness as your bride.”
The chief paused in his drinking, eyeing Mike speculatively before finishing the mug’s contents and wiping his lips on an already sopping sleeve. He picked up a roasted game bird, picking off the choicest bits to feed the giggling dancer in his lap. “There’s no need. You can report the girl was safely delivered.”
As if his request had no importance to him personally, Mike leaned closer, adopting a conspiratorial air. “And I will, rest assured. Damn nuisance when all I want is to hit the trail. But orders are orders. You know how it is. I need a moment in the morning. I know you’re busy. You don’t have to be there.”
Bandarlok frowned. “Very well, you may take your formal leave of my newest wife and me, three hours after dawn tomorrow.”
Mike nodded. “Fine. Suits me, see you then.”
Fondling the dancer, Bandarlok waved him away.
Stepping out into the clear, fresh night air was a tremendous relief to Mike. He’d say goodbye to Shalira, assure himself she was fine, and he and Johnny would ride out, go on with their own mission before returning to their home in the stars. And he’d forget her.
Right.
The optimism lasted only until he reached their tent. “Saium?” Mike walked into their quarters, halting abruptly. It was late and there was no sign of the guardsman. Mike was expecting the Windhunter to have completed his private reconnaissance of the camp.
“Odd,” Johnny said, crowding into the room behind his cousin. “His cot hasn’t been disturbed.”
“See if his horse is still here.” Mike knelt to unlock the container holding their blasters.
Back in less than a minute, Johnny was frowning. “The horse is gone.” He pointed at the stack of supplies. “But his stuff is mixed in with ours. Why would he leave without taking anything?”
Mike shook his head. “Something’s not right about this. Saium would never leave without telling us.”
Johnny squatted to peer at something, then came to his feet holding his left hand out to Mike. “Blood. He didn't go out of here under his own power.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning, Shalira stood with as much dignity as she could muster when the door to the hut creaked open. A night of shivering in the unheated cell had left her weak and headachy, with stiff knees, but she was determined not to let the tribe break her will.
“You look more like a slave than a princess now,” said the rough voice of the chief wife. “Come here, girl.”
Clutching the scratchy blanket like a cloak, free hand extended in front of her, Shalira walked to the location of Arananta’s voice. I’ll save my defiance for a moment when it might do some good.
Grabbing her by the elbow, the wife gave her a shake. “Don’t dawdle when I summon you. Fortunately for you, my husband needs you to be presentable this morning. But there’ll be more work later, I promise.”
Shalira said nothing as they hurried along, first outside in the bone-chilling cold, then entering the tent complex. Despite the anger burning hot inside her, she counted steps. The more she could picture the layout in her head, the greater her chance of escaping. Better to die of exposure in the forest than live as a slave. Having a plan helped keep the fear at bay, a little.
To her surprise, she smelled hot food as they entered whatever tent she’d been escorted to.
“Sit. There’s breakfast on the plate in front of you. Don’t tell me we have to feed you like a baby?” Arananta said with revulsion as she pushed her prisoner onto a bench.
Shalira felt carefully in front of her for the dish. Grasping the smooth edge, she brought the portion closer to her nose, sniffing for a hint of what they expected her to eat. Eggs, warm bread. Berries? No, fresh preserves. Setting the plate on the table and searching for a utensil, she said, “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.” Finding a wooden fork, she lifted scrambled eggs to her mouth, alternating with bites of the bread, chewing the reviving, hot food appreciatively. Who knows when they’ll offer me food again? Certainly there wasn’t any dinner.
“Good. There’s mare’s milk in a mug to your right. Don’t be too long about your meal. We have to get you dressed in your finery again, more’s the pity.” The wife sat beside her on the bench, which groaned and creaked under Arananta’s weight. “The girl required to relinquish a new dress and shawl for the day wasn’t happy. You’ll suffer for her displeasure tomorrow, I assure you.”
Concentrating on taking in as much of the food as she could before it was snatched away, Shalira didn’t answer. Her curiosity was piqued. Bandarlok needed her to play the princess again today. She suppressed a tiny hope his need might present an opportunity for her. Arananta was drumming her fingers on the table beside Shalira and fidgeting, so she knew her time to eat was about over. Grabbing the mug and holding her breath, she managed to gag down half the warm, pungent contents.
“All right, enough. Time to get you dressed.” The wife rose, and Shalira stood as well, hoping to avoid the indignity of being dragged about like an errant child. Grabbing her elbow in a viselike grip, Arananta led her out of the dining hall, through a confusing maze of open spaces and corridors, until they entered a warm, overly perfumed space. “My quarters.” The Chief Wife released her with a shove. “The bed is right in front of you. Your dress and shawl are there. Hurry up, put them on. Your sandals will do. No one cares what you wear on your feet.”
Dropping her makeshift blanket shawl, worrying if they’d give it back to her for the cold night, Shalira pulled the boxy slave’s garment over her head and let it fall from her fingertips to the ground. I hope I don’t have an audience right now, other than Arananta. She hadn’t heard anyone else in the room. Locating her clothes, she dressed, trying to ignore the faintly sour smell of some other woman’s scent overlying her own on the fabric. Clearly, bathing wasn’t a high priority up here in the highlands.
“Is she ready yet?” Bandarlok strode into the room. “I want to get this over with, get these fucking outworlders off my lands.”
Shalira’s heart skipped a beat. Was he actually going to allow her to meet Michael? Her hands shook as she finished fastening her dress.
“Her hair’s a mess,” said Arananta, lifting a strand, tugging hard. “He’ll question her unkempt appearance.”
Bandarlok blew out an impatient breath. “Brush it then, but be quick.”
Shalira stood still, biting her lip as the wife yanked a stiff, bristled brush through her tangled curls over and over. Finally, the woman tossed the brush on the bed. “I can’t do any more with this.”
Well, I’m certainly not going to offer to help. Shalira stood passively, waiting to see what they would do next.
“Fine,” Bandarlok said. “This is only going to take a few minutes. He’s a man, he won’t notice anything amiss.” Ponderously, he crossed the floor to Shalira. “The outworlder is leaving today. He says he was ordered by the emperor to take one last look at you, to report back.” The chief snorted. “Sentimental waste of time, but since Kajastahn hasn’t died yet, I can’t afford to risk refusing this request, just in case.”
Try as she might to contain the bubbling excitement, Shalira must have allowed something of her hope to show on her face.
“I warn you,” Bandarlok said, gripping her arm tightly enough to leave more bruises, “I’ll have warriors surrounding the tent. You say one wrong thing to this man and he’ll die at your feet, u
nderstand? I don’t care what weapons he has, he can’t take on two dozen of my men in close combat and live. I want him gone, I don’t want any trouble, but I’ll kill him if he stays, or if you try to give him any hint of my intentions toward you.” Laughing harshly, Bandarlok said, “I think his life means something in your heart. I’d have killed him for that insult alone but your father still lives, so my hand is stayed.”
Shalira nodded, swallowing hard. The chieftain gave her a shake and pushed her forward, his hand at the small of her back, guiding her out of the wives’ sleeping quarters and into the tent where he apparently conducted audiences.
I wish my vision would clear for even one minute so I could see Michael’s face. But blank grayness interrupted by flashes of lightning was all she could see when she opened her eyes. She had to get control of her chaotic emotions if she wanted even a glimmer of sight in the next few minutes. Head spinning, she tried to slow her breathing.
“Your Highness, thank you for granting me a final audience,” Mike said from ahead and to the left.
She stumbled over a wrinkle in the tent floor, half-dropping the shawl. Grabbing her in an iron grip, Bandarlok set her back on her feet.
Shalira pulled free of the chief’s grasp, guessing he’d release her rather than have a scene. Taking advantage of the momentary freedom to move, she stepped quickly in the direction of Mike’s voice. “I wish you well on your journey.” Her mind was racing. What can I say? How do I convey a sense of the danger I’m in? Plead for help without enraging Bandarlok—
“I wanted to see for myself that you’re fine and—and happy, a contented bride, before taking my leave.” Mike’s voice sounded strained to her ears. “To report to your father as ordered, of course.”
An effective strategy to get Bandarlok to agree to the meeting. “I’m as happy as one can be in this new situation,” she said. Pavmiraia, please grant me sight for one second! She blinked, squeezing her eyelids, took a deep breath, and raised one hand to rub her forehead. When she opened her eyes again, she was still beset by the flashes of light, but had a glimpse of Mike, his face tired and grim, his jaw set. She took a deep breath of his scent–man, leather, musk, some crisp spice unknown to her. Her heart beat painfully, realizing she might never be near him again. In a moment of inspiration, she grabbed her amulet and lifted the chain over her head, the enameled pendant swinging, tangling in the loops of the clan insignia. Frantically, she worked the disk free of the Windhunter necklace by touch alone. “A parting gift, Major, for luck.”
The grayness closed in on her visual world again, no matter how hard she tried to channel power from the goddess, but she felt him accepting the necklace readily. He cupped her outstretched hand with both of his, pressing her fingers lightly for a heartbeat. Automatically, she curled her trembling fingers around his before forcing herself to lift her hand away. I can’t risk his life through any action of mine.
Tears threatened to engulf her, but Shalira blinked hard to keep her composure a few moments longer. “May the pendant carry your deepest desire now,” she said. “I—I’ll have no further need of it.”
“Enough.” Bandarlok came to stand beside her, circling her waist with one beefy arm, hand casually cupping her butt, demonstrating her status as his possession. “You’ve satisfied your requirement to take official leave of my woman, outworlder. Time for you and your man to be on the trail.”
Crushed against the chieftain’s thigh, unable to see anything but the gray shadows, she heard a metallic clinking as Mike tucked her necklace away in a pocket. Would he remember what she’d told him, so long ago? That she’d never part with the thing until she died? Would he understand? He’d offered to help her before, back in the empty tomb. Did his offer still stand, now that they stood in Bandarlok’s camp? A pathetic straw to build hopes with. What can he and Johnny do for me anyway? Bandarlok has strength in numbers.
Mike was speaking to her, she realized belatedly. “I wish you well, Your Highness.”
“Good journey to you, Major.”
She heard Mike walking away and took an involuntary step before Bandarlok’s iron grip locked her in place. The tent flaps fell with a soft susurration as the outworlder left. A moment later she heard the sound of horses galloping away, and he was gone.
“I wish you well,” she whispered, knees weak.
“Save your wishes for yourself, girl,” Bandarlok said with a laugh. “I’ve had word from my spies in the capital. Your father slips in and out of a coma now and isn’t expected to live beyond the new moon. You won’t survive him long. At least now there’ll be no more need for farces like this audience. Maralika certainly won’t send for proof of how you’re enjoying life as my wife.” He spun her away. Off-balance, she fell into the waiting arms of the nearest guard. “Take her back to Arananta. Tell my wife I want this slave stripped of the needless finery and put to work scrubbing my sheets in the creek.”
“Yes, sir.” The warrior led Shalira out of the tent, his hand roaming a bit over her backside as they went.
At least Michael got away safely. I was foolish to hope he could do something to rescue me. Brushing away her tears, Shalira raised her chin, determined not to show her emotions to her lascivious guard or the chief wife. I’ll find some way to forestall their plans, even if I have to kill myself to deprive them of the pleasure.
I’m going to kill them all if I have to, lay waste to this entire place if that’s what’s necessary to get her out of here. Seething with rage, hands fisted, Mike walked out of the tent, mentally counting the multitude of warriors Bandarlok had assigned to guard duty. Too many to take on, even if he and Johnny were now armed with their service blasters. No way to ensure Shalira’s safety in a fight. Under the gaze of the silent, watchful clansmen, Mike took his horse’s reins from his cousin and swung into the saddle. He shook his head ever so slightly, signaling Johnny that there’d be no conversation yet. Truth be told, he was so angry over what he’d just seen of how Shalira had been treated, if he said one word he’d be swearing for the next five minutes.
They trotted from the camp side by side, Johnny leading the pack horse, and rode for at least an hour, setting a path through the dense forest, heading to the mountains. Then Mike called a halt. “I don’t think we’re being followed.”
“No, they appear to have accepted your assurances we just wanted to be on our way.” Johnny eyed him. “Well? How was she?”
“She gave me this.” Mike fished the necklace out of his pocket, dangling it from one hand.
Johnny touched the pendant with his index finger. “Pretty. I’m guessing there’s more significance to this than a little parting gift?”
“Back in the city, Shalira told me the necklace had been her mother’s, and she’d never take it off till the day she died.” Mike stared at the bauble coiled in his hand. “Now today, she tells me she’ll have no further need of it.” Shoving the jewelry in his pocket, Mike shook his head as he sealed the flap. “They had her wrapped in a shawl, but when she was taking off the necklace, I saw her arms covered in bruises. Her hands were chapped and cut.” He took a deep breath. “That’s not the worst of it. She was wearing the Windhunter collar, but when she first walked into the tent I noticed deep red marks on her neck. I think the bastard tried to strangle her.”
“You think Bandarlok is abusing her?”
“I think he’s planning to kill her, or at least that’s what she thinks.”
Rubbing one hand along his jawline, Johnny tipped his head. “We never did get a straight answer about what happened to Saium. He vanished off the face of the planet, which seems ominous, given how you say the chief is treating Shalira.”
“Did you see any signs of her clan in the camp? Any banners, anyone with a bird tattoo like Saium’s?”
Dismounting to check his restless horse’s rear hoof, Johnny shook his head. “No, and I didn’t see any signs of preparation for a big wedding feast, either.”
“I’m sure the wooden staff with the carved
Windhunter bird totem we took from the tomb was burning in the fire pit last night,” Mike said.
Johnny whistled as he dug a small pebble from the horse’s hoof. “Not a good omen. What do you have in mind to do?”
“Go back in tonight, do some recon, extract the princess. Bandarlok is a dead man if he gets in my way.” Mike eyed his cousin, waiting for Johnny to make some protest. “I’m taking her out of there and I’ll kill anyone in the camp who interferes, including the chief. She’s coming with me.”
The sergeant merely rubbed his jaw and nodded slowly. “All the way to the Djeelaba Mountains? With Bandarlok and his highland warriors chasing us to add to the fun?” Johnny chuckled, tossing the pebble he’d removed from the horse’s shoe as far away as he could. “Well, that’ll reduce the boredom of the search and recovery job. And then what? Are we taking her into the Sectors?”
Mike nodded. “Home to Azrigone as my wife, if she’ll have me. I won’t be the first guy to return married to a local girl.” He frowned. “You know the regs, I’m allowed to bring home a wife.”
Johnny nodded. “Oh, I’m in. You know Command isn’t going to like it, us complicating our mission with personal business. Bandarlok won’t give her up without a fight.”
“I don’t care, this is my last job for them, we’re basically doing Command a favor to take this mission on. They can court martial me if they want. Keep the veterans’ acres.”
“We have to accomplish our own mission objective,” Johnny reminded him. “Only way to have what we want is to bring them what they want. Command made the parameters clear enough when they reassigned us to active duty.” He spat.
Mike was undeterred. “We won’t fail, my word on it.”
“Just one thing, cousin. I hate to bring it up, but what if the lady insists on staying with Bandarlok, like she did back at the tombs? What if you’re wrong and this necklace she gave you doesn’t mean anything? If she still won’t turn aside from doing what she sees as her duty to her father?” Johnny ran his reins through his gloved hands. “What’s our play then?”
Mission To Mahjundar (A Sectors SF Romance) Page 14
